Stains on the floor
by Rivergoddess16
Summary: A one shot, set in back in the Ishbal Massacre. The story starts just after Roy Mustang has killed the Rockbells. Rated teen for violence, and to be safe.


**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the characters in this story. This is my twist on a flash back from episode 15, only the end part is mine._

**Authors notes: **_I know this sorta story has probably been done a lot, but I was very moved by that one Ishbal Massacre flash back thingy. The one about Roy Mustang and how he killed the Rockbels. My story is a slightly different version…Also, in this story Roy uses ammonia to clean, please note that in real life; straight ammonia is a dangerous chemical that can eat through stuff, or something…I just said ammonia cuz it sounded better then saying "ammonia based cleaning product"_

Roy Mustang lowered his gun. The sound of freshly fired guns echoed through his ears in a defining roar – then, as suddenly as it had come – it stopped, he was left in a silence that was as smothering and somber as a shroud .

Mustang looked down at the two bodies before him, already blood was seeping across the floor, inching it's way to his polished leather boots – and yet – all he could do was stand completely still.

"Oh god." He breathed softly, starring down. His young dark eyes taking in every detail, images imprinting themselves upon his brain. Suddenly it became all too much, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain he felt as his bones collided with the wood floor.

Roy bent over, his face held in his hands, expecting tears to rush forth – but his eyes remained stubbornly dry. He wiped at his face with the rough wool of his uniform sleeve, hoping to irritate his eyes into producing tears, sure that if only he could let some of the emotion out he'd feel better. For some reason he couldn't cry. Mustang remembered an old officer had once told him the soldiers never cried, if it was true, then it was the only truth the old man had every told him about war. What a stupid lie the whole military had been, there was no honor, no pride – only death, death and loss every where.

Inhaling deeply, Mustang stood quickly, he knew what had to be done now.

Behind the house he dug a shallow grave. With every shovel of dirt that he threw out, he worse he felt. Digging a grave made his act feel all the more real.

Only when he had buried the two bodies did he rest. He knelt next to the mound of freshly piled earth and rocked back and forth slowly, his eyes closed, trying to shut out the image of the two laying dead by his own hands.

At last Mustang stood, resisting the urge to collapse, wishing he were slumbering under the cold and peaceful earth, instead of the two he had just buried.

Back in the house he found a full bottle of ammonia, tearing the sleeves from his jacket, Mustang began to clean the blood that had pooled on the floor.

Long into the night he worked, silently scrubbing away, as long as he kept moving he could escape a little of the guilt that nagged at him.

Finally he stood, the floor was still deep red, despite vigorous scrubbing. Mustang let the now drained ammonia bottle clank to the floor, it's empty rattle echoed the one he felt inside him.

For a long time he stood there – starring at a stain that he would never be able to erase, the innocent blood hadn't just tainted the wooden floor boards, it had stained his heart – and all the bottles of ammonia in the world couldn't take out a stain like that.

Mustang looked down at the pistol he had left on the floor, shaking slightly, he picked it up. Death was the only escape from such guilt – death was his only chance for peace.

He cocked the gun and smiled slightly. How easy it was, it would probably be the most easy thing he had ever done. Death felt so right. Equivalent exchange, alchemy's first

rule – it was the perfect death for an alchemist – the perfect death for Roy Mustang.

He raised the gun, his finger on the trigger. It wouldn't take much to pull back the small shinny piece of metal and then it would all be over. He'd used that weapon to kill others, and now he would suffer the same fate – how fitting.

Roy closed his eyes and took a last breath, the air tasted of harsh ammonia mingled with the dank, molding smell of the crumbling building. Still – it wasn't unpleasant, it was the first time he could remember feeling alive.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered softly, his finger rested on the trigger, about to pull it back.

"Move one more inch and I swear I'll skin you alive." A harsh feminine voice broke the silence. A voice that could only belong to Riza Hawkeye.

Roy considered doing it anyway, but Riza didn't deserve to see something like that, she'd done nothing….It was better to leave her out of it.

"I should have known you'd come Hawkeye. You could never mind your own business." He muttered, still facing the blood stained floor.

"This is my business." Hawkeye said, walking to stand next to him and following his gaze down. After a moment of silence she said softly; "You must feel awful." Slowly she raised he hand and touched Mustang on the back, his white button down shirt was soaked with blood and sweat, but Riza didn't care. She let her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment, then Mustang brushed it off and said blankly: "You couldn't under stand, you could never understand."

Riza moved a little closer to him, she could feel heat radiating off him, but still he shivered slightly. "I could try." She breathed. "I could try." She reached out for his arm.

Roy looked down at her out stretched hand, he didn't pull away, instead he relaxed slightly, letting her take him by the arm and hold him close. He rested his head on hers and inhaled the sweet smell of her warm blond hair.

Riza held onto Roy tightly, as if she didn't she might lose him.

"Do you really think taking your own life will even begin to repay what you took?" She asked sternly, but with a softness around the edges – like a mother scolding her child.

"No." Roy admitted. "Not really." He kept his eyes closed, shutting out the world, it was only him and Riza now.

"Exactly, you'd only be running – you'd spend all of eternity running." Riza whispered, he tone had lost all of it's sharpness and was gentle again.

Roy nodded somberly and pulled away from her. "You should go." He grunted. Riza looked puzzled.

"I don't deserve you – not after what I've done." He said sadly, looking down. "How could you love someone like me?"

"You know better now." Riza tugged at his shirt sleeve. "You've learned your lesson."

Roy looked slowly up at her, a lot of mingled anger and sadness on his face.

"Learned my lesson?" He asked, fury bubbling beneath the surface of every word.

"No Hawkeye. A child who's disobeyed his mother learns a lesson. This is not a child's game anymore – it never was a child's game – I was only fool enough to think it was!" Mustang yelled the last words, then stopped suddenly, his final sentence leaving a stunned silence in it's wake. Then he turned and walked quickly from the room, leaving the little house behind, leaving Riza Hawkeye behind.

Riza looked down at the stain floor again. "I _would_ love you Mustang, I think I love you right now…This is the past." She sighed as she stared at the red stains. "I'd be your future."

Riza bit her bottom lip to keep from crying, then walked slowly from the house as well. She knew that no matter how hard he wanted too, Mustang would never admit to loving her back – He'd never let himself feel happiness again – or at least spend weeks punishing himself when he did let the emotion slip through.

What had happened that night would changed Roy Mustang forever, through rather it was for better of for worse; Riza couldn't be sure…


End file.
